"But in the meantime I must see him, immediately."
"He goes to-morrow. That is why he is afflicted to-day," said The Jinnee. "I think, hanoum, he would go without seeing you again. It is a grievous thing to say to one's beloved, 'I leave you.' I have said it. I was young then. I am old now, but I have not forgotten."
I unfastened the chain from my neck. A half-coin swung from it as a pendant.
"Place this in his hand. It is a sign. It has power to lay the evil spirit which troubles this house," I told him gravely.
He seized upon it with an eager hand. "In the name of God!" said The Jinnee, and fairly flew out of the room.
A minute later, his violin grasped in one hand, my chain in the other, Nicholas Jelnik appeared. His appearance shocked me. The mask was off; here was stark and naked misery.
"Nicholas!" I said, "Nicholas!"
"You should not have come!" he said roughly. "Why have you come? I did not want you to see me—thus. Is it not enough for me to suffer?" And he made an impatient, imploring gesture. His lips quivered.
"Put aside the violin, Ariel," I said. "But keep the coin."
He stiffened, as if he braced himself for further blows. But he laid aside the violin, and with a supreme effort of will got himself in hand. That early training in self-control worked a miracle now. Here was no longer the wild, white-lipped musician, but a pale, proud young man who faced me with stately politeness.